


Wrangled

by HeartOfAspen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 18:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17709197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartOfAspen/pseuds/HeartOfAspen
Summary: There is not much Charlie Weasley can't handle. But when Hermione needs him to bring Crookshanks to a Muggle veterinarian for her, will this be the thing that defeats him? Not likely, when you're a dragon tamer!





	Wrangled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [I_was_BOTWP](https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_was_BOTWP/gifts).



> To my dear friend and most wonderful beta-reader, I_was_BOTWP...
> 
> You were the first person to review my first fanfiction, ever. I was no one; I had a single story on FFN, with no readers. But I had a story to tell. Thank you for helping to fan that first spark, and for rekindling it whenever it burned down to embers. Writing this little piece hardly seems like enough when it comes to expressing my gratitude... but here's to you, with all my love.

There was not much that Charlie Weasley could not handle. He had banded wild dragons more times than he could count, had taken a clutch of illegal eggs from a nesting drake… he had even once disagreed with his own mother. Hell, he had traveled by broomstick through the dark to help his kid-brother smuggle an illegal dragon hatchling from a Scottish boarding school.

He often thought back on that final scenario with fondness. Not only had it been unusual and reckless, but it had been the first time he had ever met Hermione. He could also handle  _ her _ , too - her fiery temper, her insatiable need to  _ know things.  _ Though, it was worth noting, he did not always understand her. But that, according to assurances from his father, was normal when it came to women (Mr Weasley had said this whilst on his way out the door to go de-gnome the garden at his wife’s behest, despite having a soft spot for the ugly little creatures himself).

The point was, Charlie was a very capable wizard. Equal to nearly any task put before him… including, and not limited to, taking his girlfriend’s ancient, crotchety cat to a Muggle veterinarian. 

“Why can’t you take him to the emporium in Diagon?” he queried as he watched Hermione struggling to deposit a yowling, scratching Crookshanks into his traveling carrier. They had tried putting calming draughts in his food beforehand, with little effect; the cat had turned his suspicious nose up at anything placed before him. Charlie’s suggestion that they stun him for the journey was not met favorably. “They’ve probably got some tonic or something to help fix him up.”

“You know well enough that I’ve  _ tried _ that already, Charles Weasley,” Hermione bickered, looking very much as if she would like to brandish an angry finger at him, were she not otherwise occupied by stuffing her evil cat into his carrier. “What they’ve given him hasn’t been working. He’s still losing fur.”

The cat did, indeed, look particularly bedraggled with some clumps of his ginger coat missing. Finally, with an extra bit of luck, Hermione was able to latch the door shut. Crookshanks hissed from within and emitted a crusty growl.

Charlie stared at the cat carrier dubiously. “What am I supposed to say to the veter-a-watsis?”

“Veterinarian,” she corrected, tending to her wounded forearms.

“Right,” he muttered. “Whatever.”

“He’s been vomiting and losing his fur - and we don’t know why. That’s all.”

Glancing over at him, she must have seen his glum expression, because she took a step toward him and settled against his chest. Pushing up onto the balls of her feet, she pressed a quick peck to his cheek, followed by a firmer one to the corner of his lips, before slipping her tongue into his mouth. Curling his arms around her, Charlie enjoyed the press of her body, the feel of her against him. Just like that, he recalled that there was a good chance that if he took the evil feline to the veterin… whatever… then there was a pretty good chance he would get a blowjob later tonight for his trouble. How difficult could it be?

“Thanks for agreeing to take him,” Hermione whispered into the crook of his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his neck. “I don’t want to have to reschedule but I can’t get out of this last-minute conference.”

“Anything for you, kitten,” he murmured into her hair.

“Just be warned… Crooks hates Apparition. He might be a bit angry when you get there…”

...Which was how Charlie found himself, along with a spitting-angry Crookshanks, standing before the Muggle woman at reception. After several unsuccessful attempts at handing her the carrier over the top of the counter and being ignored, a glance around the waiting area made Charlie infer that he was supposed to stay with Crookshanks until it was his turn. A small man with a Great Dane was talking on a cell phone like the one Hermione had; a redheaded woman that somewhat reminded him of Ginny was reading a poster on the wall about bugs that could be living on your pet (Charlie cast a disgusted look at Crookshanks’ carrier and vowed to cast a few cleaning spells when he returned back to Hermione’s flat, just in case). The smell of cat vomit assaulted his nostrils and he recoiled slightly.

“Name?” the receptionist barked.

With a jolt of discovery, he realized he had no idea what he was supposed to do once he got in to see the vet. Suddenly, this task seemed a lot more daunting. He answered, “Crookshanks.”

“Color?”

“Burnished copper.”

The bespeckled, tired-looking woman glanced up at him, and too late, he recalled that was really more the wording one might use to describe a dragon, rather than a cat. Crookshanks growled from his container.

“How old is he?”

“Um.” He glanced down at the carrier in his hand. Doing some quick calculations based on Hermione’s age, he answered, “Thirty-five?”

The receptionist rolled her eyes and laughed sarcastically, like she was only humoring him. Her hand had paused over the form she was filling out, like she was waiting for his real answer.

Feeling unsure (they had always assumed the cat was part-kneazle, and they tended to live for quite a long time beyond the lifespan of a regular house-cat), Charlie only shrugged. “He’s my girlfriend’s cat. He’s… quite old.”

With a deep sigh, the woman wrote something down on the form and motioned to the waiting area. “Have a seat.”

“Er, I think he’s chucked in the carrier.”

“Let the vet know when you get into the room, and she can clean him up.”

The waiting room was chaos. A family with two young children and three boisterous dogs dominated the area. A Pekingese was curled into the lap of a very old woman, shivering with fear. Crookshanks growled at anyone who came near.

Finally, Crookshanks’ name was called and Charlie made it into the examination room, where he was greeted by yet another tired-looking woman. This one was a small, blonde Muggle girl with a permanent scowl. “Hi there,” she said, looking not at all pleased to see him. “I’m Dr Rumack.”

Eyebrows raising, Charlie could not have said who he had been expecting to be the veterin… whatever… but she was not it.

“So this is-” the woman glanced at the thin manila folder in her hand, “-Crookshanks?”

“He’s puked in his carrier,” Charlie explained.

She arched an eyebrow. “I see. Well, let’s let him out and we can have someone clean that up while we do the exam.”

Charlie gaped, thinking of Hermione’s war-ravaged arms just from trying to get Crooks  _ in  _ the container. “You want me to take him  _ out _ ?”

Looking at him as though he were some sort of idiot, the vet patiently answered, “Well, I’ll need to do his examination.”

Apprehensive, Charlie reached for the latches on the front of the carrier door, and was surprised when the cat simply strolled out and over to the woman.

Her demeanor instantly changed upon seeing him. “Ooh, you  _ handsome boy _ . Soooo handsome!”

Crookshanks began to purr; Charlie rolled his eyes. Secretly, he thought,  _ That cat is the devil. _

Picking up the carrier, the vet remarked how unusual it was to see them in wicker before setting it outside the door to be picked up and cleaned. She began to work at wiping the sick off of Crookshanks’ squashed face, all while cooing to him and making kissing noises.

Afterward, she took his weight on a scale and remarked, “Ooh, you chunky boy, Crookshanks!” Turning to Charlie, she deadpanned, “He’s overweight. What have you been feeding him?”

“Er,” Charlie answered.

Thence followed several more questions, including a plethora of other things Charlie did not know all the answers to. What were his habits? He slept a lot, Charlie knew. Was he fed once or twice a day? Charlie could not say, as it seemed like Hermione fed him whenever he was hungry. Did he go outside? Not as much as he used to. Was he pooping regularly? Charlie had certainly not paid much attention to  _ that _ ...

With each, “I’m not sure,” she got from him in response, the vet glared more and more menacingly at him. Charlie was reminded of a particularly nasty Ukranian Ironbelly he’d once had to wrangle after it had escaped the sanctuary.

“There seems to be no record of vaccination here.”

“Of what?”

“Vaccination. Is he up to date on his rabies shot?”

Charlie took a step back, wondering if whatever ‘rabies’ was, was contagious. “His what?”

The woman looked annoyed with him, like he was being stupid on purpose. “So what appears to be wrong with Crookshanks today?”

“Well, he’s my girlfriend’s cat. She couldn’t come today. But he’s old…  _ really _ old. I mean,  _ ancient _ \- and he’s always been a bit of a bastard, you know? But lately, she says he’s been vomiting and shedding his fur.”

“I see,” said the vet, running a hand down Crookshanks’ back; the cat began to purr and lean into her. “Drinking a lot of water?”

“Er.” Again, Charlie could not have said; he stayed at Hermione’s flat a few times a week, but he was generally preoccupied with... other things... when he was there.

“Is he on any medication?”

“Well, my girlfriend has him on some kind of tonic…” It was difficult to explain that Hermione had been giving Crookshanks something which, even if he had known the contents, he knew it was probably best not to give away that whatever-it-was was magical in nature.

When he could not describe the name of it, or what was in it, the vet deduced, “Oh, a homeopathic remedy? Those rarely work.”

He frowned. “Right.”

“Let me just go get a tech to help with the exam. I’ll be right back.”

Once she left, Charlie sat back in the chair provided in the corner of the room and stared ahead at Crookshanks. The cat seemed quite pleased with himself and was glaring at Charlie from across the room. “I bet you aren’t even sick.”

Crooks blinked back at him and began washing his paw.

When the vet returned several minutes later, she was accompanied by yet another small and unpleasant-looking Muggle woman, who brought with her, the cleaned carrier. “Good as new.”

“Just so you know,” the vet said to Charlie, “we do require him to have his rabies vaccination today.”

“Oh.” He paused, furrowing his brow and running a hand through his red hair. “I’ll have to ask my girlfriend if that’s okay…”

“We are  _ telling _ you we have to give it, it’s the law.”

“Oh. Well… alright then.” He hoped Hermione would understand.

The two women began the examination, which appeared not to be to Crookshanks’ taste. While he liked being stroked, having his ears looked at was a different story. All the while, the vet made notes of his vitals on the form the receptionist had prepared earlier. Meanwhile, huge tufts of orange fur had come off of Crookshanks and were wafting around the room; the vet eyed these, and Charlie could not help feeling at least a little glad that he wasn’t there for no reason.

Finally, once the vet had finished with her initial examination, she loaded up a needle with some fluid.

He blurted out, “You’re going to jab him with that?”

The vet fixed him with a stern, skeptical look as she held the needle aloft. “It’s his rabies shot.”

Well, that didn’t look very good to Charlie, who frowned and asked, “Are you sure he needs it?”

“I am required by law to give this. Afterward, we can finish the rest of his exam.”

Looking over at Crookshanks, he saw that the cat’s big, yellow eyes were also fixed on the needle, and that his ears had flattened back. Then, looking over at the two women - completely disarmed by the faux-sweetness of Crookshanks - he shrugged and said, “Your funeral.”

“He seems friendly,” the tech remarked. “I’ll be sure to get a good grip on him for his jab…”

Famous last words.

.

.

When Hermione arrived home later that evening, she walked through the door of her flat, to find Charlie on her couch and watching the telly. The look of surprise on her face was evident as she noted Crookshanks curled up on his lap. “Have the two of you become friends, then?”

From his position on the couch, Charlie winked at her. “There’s a bottle of medicine and your invoice on the kitchen counter.”

She walked over and sat beside him, kissing his cheek. “Thank you for taking him. I’ll call them tomorrow with payment. What did the veterinarian say?”

Grinning back at her, he replied, “They told me never to bring your demon cat to their facility again.”

“He was really that bad?”

“Worse,” he murmured. “But not to worry, I wrangled him.”

Fixing him with a soft stare from under her lashes, she ran her fingers slowly down his arm. “Thank goodness I have a dragon tamer on hand for such things… how can I ever repay you?”

“Oh, I can think of a few ways…”

Reaching for his belt buckle, she smiled sinfully. “So can I.”

_ Fin _ .

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to both sarena and Witches_Britches for lending their alpha skills to this piece. Also to RooOJoy for coming up with the idea for this collection and being a wonderful conspirator when it came to organizing it.


End file.
